


Memories of You

by soyouwannaplaywithmagick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Bathtubs, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyouwannaplaywithmagick/pseuds/soyouwannaplaywithmagick
Summary: A short continuation of Dark Horse (with minor mentions of crossover characters from the Marvel Universe)Though much older and wiser, John still begs Sherlock to show him a spell like he did when he was young. But some spells have a price. (Much fluffier than it sounds.)





	

John was excited when he heard the tinkling of the shop bell and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. The elder magician would often disappear for hours at a time and return again, telling John he had just needed some time to himself. This used to bother John, but nowadays, it wasn’t as much of a concern. Besides, being the only one who heard the bell meant that _he_ got to enter the shop in a blue-cloak flourish, mystifying customers and helping them find their charms or spells or what they most desired...

He wasn’t as good at automatically knowing what everyone needed as Sherlock was, but dammit, he could read minds now, and that was good enough! Plus, Sherlock hadn’t known what he’d needed when he’d first shown up, so he could put that in his pipe and bloody smoke it.

Arms raised in a show of magickal superiority, John swept into the shop, his rehearsed speech already poised on his lips, and was immediately disappointed.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Loki laughed. “Well, _that’s_ always what you want to hear when you come into a room. You ought to work on your salesmanship.” He walked over to the table on which Thomas sat blinking in his cage and wiggled his fingers. “I’m sure you had a whole spiel planned for your potential customers. ‘Welcome to _Sherlock’s_ , the place where ordinary people are granted their wildest wishes!’”

John cleared his throat, not in any way wanting to admit how close to spot-on Loki’s comments actually were. “I don’t mean to be rude... No, I guess I really don’t care. What do you want, Loki?”

“You don’t have to be so touchy anymore.” Loki’s eyes flickered up to meet John’s. “The curse is broken. I’m not your competition.”

John wanted to tell him he never was, but instead, he settled for a half-laugh, half-snort. “Right. Can you... Just get on with why you’re here? If you just wanted to chat up Sherlock, he’s busy.”

Of course, that was the moment his lover chose to come out of hiding. Sherlock was suddenly standing beside John, but he wasn’t wearing his traditional cloak. Instead, he was draped in a purple bathrobe that looked extra soft. His feet were bare and left wet prints on the wood.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Loki murmured.

“You’re one to talk,” Sherlock said. “What do you want?”

“Like your other half puts it, I was just coming by to... chat you up. Have some tea. Jane is at a women’s only witches retreat and I got lonely rattling around the hotel room by myself.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked upward. “Haven’t thought of straying I hope?”

Loki’s expression changed only slightly, but the sincerity in his voice was stranger than anything.

“No. She’s my girl.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Yes!” John, who’d had just about enough and had always had a problem keeping quiet for too long,, clapped his hands and forced a smile. “Glad to hear you and Jane are still well.” He turned toward Sherlock and asked, “Shall I put the kettle on?”

“No, it’s all right.” Loki held up his hands. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you if I knew you were in the bath.” He gave a short nod and smiled. “I miss that.”

“Perhaps, someday, I’ll loan it out to you.”

Loki laughed. “Perhaps someday I’ll learn to do half the things my apprentice can.” He gave them both another nod and disappeared out the door onto what looked like a cobblestone street.

Sherlock turned to walk back into the hallway and John quietly followed him.

“Where are you going?”

Nonplused, Sherlock faced him again. “To... take a bath.”

John nodded and made an exaggeratedly surprised face to mock Sherlock’s own expression. “‘A bath.’”

“Yes.”

“I’ve only seen the loo with the shower. The one with the potted plants. The one... The one you let everybody see.” John shook his head and laughed. “You know, I keep telling myself I don’t care where you go, when you go. That it’s fine if you’re gonna... go off by yourself for hours on end when you’re just here in the house. But I don’t get why I’ve been with you, here, for... How long has it been now? Four or five decades at least?”

“Give or take,” murmured Sherlock.

“And I still don’t know half the places that are in this sodding _house_. And that would be fine, it really would be, except _he_ knows them all! And you didn’t even have the shop and everything when you were with him, so... How... And when... Am I ever going to know half of what he does about you?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment. Then finally sighed.

“Come, John. I’ll show you the bath room.”

 

 

 

As it turned out, the room lived up to its name. It was small, and the walls and floors were tiled black, but it was cozy somehow, comfortable. The hundred or so candles were suddenly lit with a wave of Sherlock’s hand, but John literally gasped when he saw the tub.

It was carved entirely out of crystal and had clawed feet. When he leaned down over it, he could smell rose petals and sage and something like rain. The closer he got, the more he just wanted to dive in.

“Why haven’t you shown me this?”

“Because I don’t use it often. There’s a spell, but...”

“Show me,” John said and turned to take Sherlock’s long, white hands. He felt himself stiffen and knew he was going to sound like a boy again when he said it, but he didn’t care. “Loki knows about it. Show it to me.”

Sherlock sighed and nodded. And letting John’s hands go, he bent down to draw them a bath.

 

 

 

“Mmmm...” John slid in, and the water was the absolute perfect temperature, hot enough to let you know you’re alive without scalding. He let out a long, low sigh and put his arms on either side of the crystal tub’s mouth.

“Jesus, Sherlock... This is...”

“Mhm” came the deep, tired reply.

John’s mind slowed, making him feel drunk, but it was more soothing than that. He could feel his cheeks getting hot and laughed softly. The water smelled like petunias and smoke and about a million different spices. He could feel Sherlock’s leg brush his own, and he laughed again.

“God, this is the most incredible experience I’ve ever... I mean, not the _most_.” He stopped himself, not wanting to ruffle any feathers, but Sherlock was just smiling.

John continued to talk, or rather, babble. “I love baths, truly do. I used to take them lots of times, especially in the winter. But this... This is wonderful.” He shook his head. “Sherlock, we need to do this all the time. I’d be completely pissed that you kept this from me, but I’m so relaxed, I don’t even remember what being angry feels like. I’m going to want one of these every night, I hope you know.”

“Yes,” whispered Sherlock, “that’s what I was afraid of.”

John’s brow furrowed very softly, almost fighting against the high he was feeling because of the bath. “What?”

“I was afraid of that.” Sherlock’s reached down to trail his hand through the water, and little, purple swirls etched out from his fingertips. “It’s not an easy spell for me.”

John sat up a little and tried to clear his head. “Well... You could teach me, and I can help.”

“It doesn’t really work that way.”

Determined to understand, John touched Sherlock’s knee under the water and felt a shower of sparks. “Darling...”

When Sherlock raised his pale eyes to meet John’s, they looked a little listless, almost exhausted. “It’s an unimaginable feeling, but... I have to give something up to create it.”

“Give something up?”

Sherlock nodded. “The spell, it calls for a number of different things. Assorted flower petals, perfumes, and spices. I use any feathers Morgana has shed to soften the tactile experience and sorcerer’s wine for the intoxicating effect. But... the last ingredient... is a memory from my own mind. Something warm and wonderful. Something to make it... Perfect.”

John breathed out slowly and looked across the warm, wonderful water at his master, his lover, his friend. He understood. “A memory you don’t get back.”

“Yes.”

It was hard to breathe, to think, to even be sad in the bath, but John tried to keep his mind afloat.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course not.” Sherlock gave him a small smile but still looked very tired to John. Though he wanted to know, it seemed very difficult to ask the question he wanted to ask.

“Was it... a memory of us?”

“Yes. Of us.”

John swallowed. Sherlock had taken all his memories of the two of them away once (or twice) upon a time ago, and missing them was agony. John almost wondered how Sherlock could stand to do it, but he knew he had pushed him into demonstrating this incredible spell. And he somehow knew other, less wonderful memories just wouldn’t cut it.

“...It wasn’t our first night, was it? That you...”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head very slowly, but John could sense the feeling behind his words. “I wouldn’t part with that memory for anything.”

“Then... Which one? Or have you already forgotten?”

“It will fade completely once I step out. But it was the night of my birthday about fifteen years ago.” Sherlock’s voice became very soft. “Do you remember?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. We stayed in bed all night and you told me about your childhood... And we made love until we couldn’t move.”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

A pang managed to get to John, and he couldn’t help but to hurt at the thought that Sherlock would never remember that night again after they got out of the bath. Being there with him in the water was the most soothing thing John had ever felt in some ways, but in others, merely having Sherlock’s arms around him did that just fine. And thinking that his master would not remember a night as incredible as that one for this... To have to choose.

“Do you regret it?”

Sherlock sighed. “Sometimes. But then the memory fades, and I don’t concern myself with it.” He paused. “But there is a reason why I don’t do this very often.”

“I understand,” whispered John, and gently, he moved across the length of the tub so that he could wrap himself, arms and legs and everything, around Sherlock. “But I can remind you of everything, tell you all about it again. Like a story. Or...” He leaned down to bite Sherlock’s earlobe and was rewarded with a shudder. “We can make new memories to use and forget and treasure.”

Sherlock’s smile was all he needed to know he had said just the right thing. And he hadn’t even had to practice.


End file.
